The White Rose
by Dawn-Of-Indescribable-Colors
Summary: Draco sat back. Now he understood. The war had taken almost every member of the Nott family. And apparently...none of them had earned a place in this graveyard. "I'm sorry," he breathed. What else was there to say? "I'm so sorry..." WRITTEN FOR THE PHOBIA CHALLENGE: COIMETROPHOBIA. ONE-SHOT.


**Written for the Phobia Challenge, Coimetrophobia: the fear of cemeteries. It's rather sad, but I hope you enjoy.**

**Listen to: Skin - Zola Jesus**

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_**~ The White Rose ~**_

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Draco had his own reservations. His own reasons for trying to avoid the Memorial. But his reasons, at least, were obvious to most of the Wizarding World.

"We must go, Draco," Lucius had said. "We must heal our reputation."

And that comment, perhaps, had made him so furious with his father that he had to go. Reputation meant next to nothing to him any longer. And if he was going to the Memorial, it was damn well for the people who'd died in the war.

Not for _reputation. _

So here they sat - their pathetic family of three. Scorned. Hated. Belonging no where and to no one. In church pews in Godric's Hollow, hearing the eulogies of far too many.

Potter spoke most frequently, war hero that he was. And for the life of him, Draco just couldn't hate the man anymore.

So he sat in silence, eyes downcast, face somber and free of the disdain and arrogance most expected from him. The winter snow fell deftly outside the church windows, cloaking Godric's Hollow's graveyard in white. The moon shone softly on its glistening flakes, and an aura of peace settled over each and every one of the Memorial's attendants.

Their faces were a blur to Draco, even though he recognized most. He couldn't bring himself to focus. To think. Nothing.

Until, out the corner of his eye, he saw a face he swore he'd never see again.

He was as still as stone, far off to the side of the crowded church, by himself. His normally handsome face had grown thin and pale, his blue eyes hollow as he stared at the floor. Tangled black hair fell in a mop across his forehead and his shoulders were hunched, his suit jacket removed and on the pew beside him.

Theodore Nott.

Draco had stared too long. Theo glanced up.

And their eyes met.

Emptiness. There was such an emptiness in Nott's gaze. Desolation. Draco had never seen a human being look this way.

"And now, if you'll join me, we'll pay our last respects to the dead." Potter's voice broke their gaze, and everyone began to stand.

Yes.

This was customary in Godric's Hollow funerals. A walk through the graveyard.

But this would be a parade. A procession of hundreds, like nothing ever seen before in a cemetery.

_Too many, _Draco kept thinking. _Too many people. Too many dead._

He glanced back towards Nott as they began to filter out of the church. He was still seated, still silent and still staring straight ahead.

"Get up, Death Eater," someone spat. An old woman who'd been sitting behind Theo. "Pay your dues. You deserve to see what you've done."

Shocked, Draco opened his mouth to defend him - what he would say, he wasn't quite sure - but before he could get a word out, Theo had stood. He turned to face the glaring woman, dipped his head in respect, and strode out one of the church's back doors like a ghost.

"Was that the Nott boy?" Draco's mother asked quietly.

Draco nodded, suddenly mute.

"He didn't deserve that."

He nodded again.

No, he didn't. Theodore Nott hadn't participated in the war. But as far as Draco knew, the rest of his massive family had.

And now Theo, alone, was reaping what they'd sewn.

The way had finally cleared, and Narcissa led Draco out of the church towards the graveyard, following the rest.

_Too many, _he thought for what must've been the millionth time. He recognized too many of the names on the tombs.

Snow blanketed the shoulders of his suit, freezing him to the core, and his breath rose in the air to mingle with the breaths of the hundreds of others. Along the way, the families began to break from the group, staying with their fallen loved ones, and the procession grew smaller and smaller.

At some point, Draco whispered to his mother that he'd like to go off on his own, and he too left the group, meandering through the dark loneliness that was death.

He had it in his head that he was going to visit Nymphadora's grave. She was his cousin after all, even if they'd never spoken.

But he never made it.

Hidden amongst the many snowy trees, bursting through the peaceful silence, a howl had rung out. A gut-wrenching, agonized _roar _that nearly knocked Draco off his feet.

He worked his way toward the sound, wondering whose voice could cut so deeply into him. Sobs followed the howl, quiet and deep, and then moans to follow those, all the while Draco drew closer.

They were just ahead now. Just behind the tree that Draco stood before. _Wailing._

And somewhere, deep down, Draco already knew who it was.

He moved around the tree.

Crumpled in the snow, his body wracking with the keening cries, was Theo, slumped up against the tree. He had his head in his hands, his wand lying in the snow a couple yards away. Beside it, abandoned, was a white rose.

Draco glanced at the headstone he lied before.

Someone unknown. Someone he was sure Theo didn't know.

"Theo..." he said gently. "Theodore."

The man - though he looked more like a boy in this moment - jerked in shock, head snapping up to see him.

"Are you...are you alright?" It was a stupid question.

Theo only stared at him, tears pouring from his eyes, before another choking sob burst out and his head fell again. And amidst the garbled cries, Draco could discern one thing:

"_They aren't here."_

"Who?" he whispered, dropping to his knees beside him despite the cold. "Who aren't here?"

"MY PARENTS!" Theo roared, startling Draco again. "WHERE ARE MY PARENTS!? God _dammit! Where are my parents? _Where is my brother? Where is my uncle? My aunts? Where are my cousins? My cousins? Where are my _cousins? They were only six!" _

Draco released a slow, shuddering breath.

As far as he knew, everyone Theo had listed was dead.

Gasping, Theo glanced up at him again, his eyes bloodshot and his face red from screaming. "Where are their graves?" he whispered, words broken. "Where are their Memorials?"

Draco sat back.

Now he understood.

The war had taken almost every member of the Nott family. And apparently...none of them had earned a place in this graveyard. The white rose...the white rose had been for them, and now it had no place.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. What else was there to say? "I'm so sorry..." He rested a hand on Theo's shaking shoulder, and to his shock, the man fell into him, burying his face in Draco's chest.

Within seconds, the front of Draco's suit was saturated with tears and snot and the helpless drool that was leaking from Theo's mouth.

"I don't understand," Theo whimpered. "I don't understand. _Where is my family?"_

Draco struggled to breathe.

How could his eyes remain dry all throughout the Memorial...and leak now?

His thoughts were cut short. Theo was screaming again. Howling against his chest - a sound more heartbreaking than any Draco had ever heard in his life. Worse than the Granger girl's as she was tortured in his dining room.

And Draco held Theo there, freezing in the snow, for an hour at least, allowing him to do what he'd never done - as far as Draco remembered - throughout his entire time at Hogwarts. To cry.

And when, in the end, he whispered once more, _"Where is my family?" _Draco could not help his reply.

And he meant every word of it.

"I will be your family..."

A fresh wave of warm tears soaked into his shirt.

"I will be your family now."

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